


Healing

by Kika988



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kika988/pseuds/Kika988
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean takes a hit for Cas, someone has to patch him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [woone5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/woone5/gifts).



> This was a prompt fic from Woone5 for a charity auction. For some reason I found it rather difficult, but I still really enjoyed writing it! I owe a HUGE thank you for beta reading and all-around support to NiennaNir. She helped me rebuild this from the ground up when I was incredibly frustrated with where it was going. Hope you enjoy -- all comments are loved and appreciated!

Like almost everything on a hunt, it happened so fast that Dean, when he tried to recall the moment it happened, could only remember the flash of horror and then the searing pain. His body had reacted without his permission, diving to push Castiel out of the way of the werewolf’s slashing claws, but he didn’t begrudge it the action -- had he been given time to consider his options, he probably would have done the same thing again. 

It was really no big deal. Okay, there was a good bit of blood, and sure, things might have gotten hairy quick if the werewolf hadn’t gone down soon after, but seeing Dean injured seemed to have inspired Cas, who took it out with a vicious stab to the heart just moments after Dean went down. 

It was weird to think back to that moment and the raw anger on his face now, when Castiel appeared to be barely holding himself together, pale and trembling in the yellow light of the bathroom down the hall from their rooms in the batcave. 

“I don’t understand why Sam isn’t doing this,” Cas said, his voice shaking slightly. “He has much more experience.”

“Which is exactly why you need the practice,” Dean pointed out. He turned the bottle of whiskey up -- no matter how much experience there was in play, stitches hurt, and he didn’t feel the need to be entirely sober for this experience. 

“There must be a better learning medium than your skin,” Cas practically growled. Dean was sure the goosebumps he felt just then was from a draft. He shrugged, wincing when the motion pulled at the tear in his shoulder. 

“Trial by fire, man. Same way Sammy and I learned. Now, grab the rubbing alcohol and just pour it in there,” he said, taking another swig of whiskey to brace himself. Cas picked up the bottle and hesitated for a long moment before turning the bottle up over Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean jerked violently, yelling and smacking the bottle of whiskey into the side of the counter hard enough to crack the bottle. Cas jerked back, eyes wide and stammering an apology. 

“I’m sorry, Dean, I thought I--”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean forced out through clenched teeth, “Just.... give me a little warning next time, ok? Pretty much everything you do back there is going to hurt like hell.” He regretted those words as soon as he spoke them, especially once he saw the impressive shade of green Castiel turned. “It’s not your fault,” he hurriedly assured him. “Just the nature of the wound. Shit hurts.”

“You wouldn’t be hurt if you had not pushed me out of the way,” Castiel pointed out. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he added quietly. 

“Getting stitched up hurts a hell of a lot less than you being dead would,” Dean replied gruffly. Dean wasn’t one for emotional heart-to-hearts, but Cas had often been the exception to that rule, and it honestly worried Dean how often Cas would allude to his own worthlessness since becoming human. Castiel went very still, but Dean just pushed on ahead. “Okay, now you’re going to need a couple of those gauze pads. Wet them down with more alcohol, and use them to clean off any caked-on blood." Castiel did as he was told, but this time hesitated before touching the pads to the wound. 

"Ready?" He asked, his hand hovering uncertainly. Dean nodded and clenched his jaw, his breath hissing out between his teeth when the brush of wet fabric became a sharp stinging pain. Cas worked methodically but gently, placing his free hand on Dean's back partway through. Dean wasn't sure if that was for Cas' benefit or Dean's, but either way, he wasn't complaining. The warm hand was a pleasant contrast to the pain in his shoulder. 

When Cas proclaimed the wound clean, Dean looked at it in the mirror and nodded. "Looks good to me," he agreed. "Now comes the fun part." 

Ten minutes and two stitches later, it was debatable which of the two was suffering more. Dean was well on his way to not caring, having taken a long swallow of whiskey before each stitch, but Cas was pale and a bit sweaty, despite Dean’s insistence that he was doing fine. Dean glanced over his shoulder at the wound in the mirror. “It looks great, Cas. Just a few more and we’re done.” Castiel took a deep breath and nodded, swallowing hard before approaching with the needle once more. 

By now the pain was little more than a dull throbbing, accompanied by the occasional tugging while Cas tied off each stitch, but despite the pain going numb, Dean could feel with pinpoint accuracy every touch, every time Cas so much as brushed his bare skin for so much as a second. He was so focused on the sensation of the other man’s breath ghosting over the back of his neck that he didn’t hear when he spoke. 

“Dean?” Dean jerked a little, glancing up at Cas in the mirror guiltily. 

“Sorry, what?”

“I was asking if you think that is sufficient.” Dean studied the progress in the mirror. The worst slash had four stitches, and the one beside it had two. They were crooked and unevenly spaced, but they held the skin together, and that was what really mattered. Dean nodded his approval. 

“Looks good to me. The last one should be fine with just a couple butterfly bandages.” Castiel let out a long breath in relief. “Splash some more alcohol on it, just to be safe,” Dean said, pausing to take a long swallow of his own alcohol in anticipation of that. He grunted through the sting of it, but he was buzzed enough by this point that he didn’t jerk in reaction like before. 

He felt the brush of Castiel’s hand over his back as if in apology for the pain, and felt the soft touch more intensely than any of the pain. He leaned back slightly against Cas’ hand, but of course didn’t verbally acknowledge it. 

He walked Cas through opening and applying the butterfly bandages, which was thankfully easier than the stitches, even though Dean kept getting distracted by the feel of Castiel’s cool fingers against his overheated skin. 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said when he was done, craning his neck to look over his shoulder at the finished product. “Looks great.”

“I should thank you, as well,” Cas said quietly, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “For saving my life. And I do. But... please, don’t take a risk like that again. Not for me.”

Dean scowled and surged to his feet, wavering unsteadily as all the blood rushed to his head. He clutched at Castiel’s arms to steady himself even as he spoke. 

“Fuckin’ stop, Cas, okay? Stop it with all this self-demeaning bullshit. You’re important. You’re important to Sammy, and to Charlie and Kevin, and you’re sure as hell important to me. You don’t get to just decide that you’re not worth keeping around, okay? Because I want you around, dammit,” he finished angrily, leaning in close to Castiel’s face and giving him a little shake from where he gripped his arms. 

“And I am not allowed to feel the same way?” Cas snapped, stepping in even closer. “You can be angry at me for risking my life, but I can’t be angry at you for doing the same thing? I’ve just spent the last half hour sewing you up because you risked your life for me - the same thing you would do for Sam, or Kevin, or Charlie, or a complete stranger. Why is it acceptable for you but not for me?”

“You could have been killed,” Dean ground out. “And that’s not an option.” 

Castiel looked at Dean for a long moment before reaching up to trace his fingers lightly over the shoulder he had just been sewing up, only inches away from the wound. Dean shivered, his eyes drifting closed as he relished in the feather-light touch. “I think I can understand feeling that way,” Castiel finally said pointedly, raising an eyebrow. “Just… don’t forget to take care of yourself, in the midst of all the caretaking you do for the rest of us.”

As Castiel’s hand dropped away, Dean forced his eyes open, meeting Castiel’s gaze and the raw emotion there. It managed to pierce through the haze of alcohol surrounding his brain -- something that couldn’t be said for his impulse control. 

It happened so fast that Dean, when he tried to recall the moment it happened, could only remember the sensation of warmth, blooming in his body from every point of contact with Castiel -- his chest, which bumped awkwardly against the other man’s as they leaned into each other, his hands, which cupped Castiel’s jaw, thumbs brushing lightly along his cheekbones, and of course his lips. Castiel’s lips were surprisingly soft; they always appeared chapped (not that he had been looking, of course) but all he could register in that moment was the warmth and the soft give of Castiel’s lips against him, and the small noise he made in the back of his throat when Dean brushed his tongue ever so lightly against Cas’ lower lip. 

When Dean finally pulled away, his hands dropped to Castiel’s shoulders, though he kept the touch light, making it clear that he was not trying to hold him there. He was transfixed for a moment by the light sheen of moisture on the other man’s lower lip, and the flush on his cheeks. 

“I’m not sorry,” he finally said, his voice hoarse. “I should be, because god knows I’ll probably fuck this up, but I’m not. I’ve wanted that for…” He paused, coughed, embarrassed. “...a while.”

Castiel blinked slowly, and ran his tongue over his lower lip, glancing up in surprise at the pained noise the motion drew from Dean. 

“Do you want to--”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed hurriedly as they leaned in for another kiss, moaning as Cas got a little more adventurous with tongue and teeth this time. 

Castiel looked a little shell-shocked when they broke apart. “I’ve been thinking about that for…”

“Too long,” Dean finished for him, nodding his agreement. “Can we-”

“Yes,” Castiel said, flushing when he realized how quickly he’d spoken. “Yes, you should… lie down.” Dean nodded enthusiastically. 

“Right. I’m injured. You should get me in bed.” Castiel nodded solemnly, though his eyes crinkled with a smile. Dean followed with a grin, unable to keep the straight face he’d been aiming for.


End file.
